Diamonds in the Rough
by inkandpaperqwerty
Summary: Things didn't start moving the second Loki arrived in Stuttgart. He had time on his hands, and after a talk with Agent Barton, he decides to investigate the debauchery humanity is still, for some sick reason, clinging to. Loki doesn't expect to find what he does, and when faced with someone so broken and vulnerable... he has to do something. He can't explain it. He just has to.


"That's a dreadful look, Agent Barton." Loki came to a stop beside his brainwashed toy, lips curling into a smirk. "You certainly aren't admiring the scenery."

Clint scowled slightly, a flicker of emotion crossing his otherwise dead, glassy blue eyes. "Never liked Stuttgart."

Loki chuckled softly. "I didn't realize you could dislike a city."

Clint blinked slowly, his expression moving from blank to distanced. He inhaled slowly, stared out over the city some more, and then let his breath out.

Loki leaned against the railing on the roof, still smirking. "Go on, Barton. Humor me. Tell me what the city did to earn your scathing wrath."

Clint stared for another second or two, slight emotion crossing his face again. "Slaves."

Loki tilted his head slightly and hummed. "Beg pardon?"

"Germany is the, ah, _Bordello_ of Europe." He glanced at Loki. "Brothel." His eyes turned cityward again. "Prostitution was made a legal, official business in 2002. Stuttgart is the sex tourism capital of the world."

Loki chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Humans have always struggled to embrace sensuality."

Clint just kept staring. "One of the reasons it was made legal was so prostitutes could have benefits like health insurance."

Loki had no idea what insurance was, but he was familiar with health, and it sounded like a good plan to him. Why shouldn't women receive the benefits of health because their occupational choices were untraditional?

Clint heaved a sigh, his mask slipping briefly. "There are anywhere between 400,000 and 700,000 prostitutes in Germany. Wanna know how many have insurance?"

Loki pursed his lips and considered the question for a moment. "Alright, I'll play along. How many prostitutes in Germany have health ensured to them?"

"Forty-four."

Loki blinked, confusion twisting his features. "Forty-four thousand?"

Clint shook his head. "Forty-four. Four tens and a four."

Loki wet his lips, looking out over the city with utter disbelief in his eyes. "What was the point, then?"

Clint shrugged.

Loki scowled. "Well, that's irritating, but it's hardly worth hating the whole city."

"Remember those numbers I listed?" Clint pressed his lips together for a moment, and then he shook his head. "There's a gap of 300,000. That's because an estimated ninety percent of prostitutes aren't willing. There are so many women here against their will, under the table, smuggled in from other countries…" He shook his head again. "It's impossible to know the true number of prostitutes in Germany—in any country, for that matter."

Loki's scowl deepened, his thumbnail finding it's way between his teeth as he started to chew. "I am under the impression that you are an intelligent man, so there must be something I am missing. If there are unwilling participants, why not simply tell your lawmen?"

Clint shook his head. "Can't. Don't get me wrong, German police are exceptional." He snorted, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Makes it hard to do my job sometimes." His smile vanished almost immediately. "But you can't prove anything. Prostitution is legal, the pimps know what to say and do, and the girls are too terrified and ashamed to say they don't want to be there. Their will has been completely broken down. They smile and flirt and do their best to please every customer who walks through the door. They aren't even allowed to cry; they'll be punished if they do."

Loki bristled at that, though he wasn't quite sure why.

"They give you fake names, ages, and countries of origin. Their families don't know what they do. They call the girls, the girls say they're working at a shop or restaurant and sending the money home. They're ashamed. They blame themselves."

Loki shook his head, confusion twisting his features as all previous thoughts fell away in light of the final statement. "How… could they possibly come to that conclusion?"

Clint shrugged his shoulders. "There's a lot of reasons. Most of the time, the girls get lured in by lover boys—pimps who pose as boyfriends—promising a better life. Germany has a great economy. You go to a poverty-stricken country—Romania and Nigeria are the big ones—woo a young girl, promise her a job and a house and a marriage… and she'll go with you." He shrugged again, bowing his head until it hit the metal railing. "Some of them still believe their pimps love them. Just a little while longer, then everything will be better. They just have to support his habit until he can kick it, then everything will be better. Others know they willingly went along with their pimp in the beginning, and they think that makes what happened to them their fault. They feel worthless and dirty and ashamed, so they stay in their rooms and do as they're told, day in and day out."

Loki tilted his head slightly, the lights in the city seeming to turn a sickly shade of yellow the longer the night wore on. "You keep calling them girls. Why?"

Clint lifted his head and stared out at the city, setting his jaw tightly. "Because they aren't women. The average age of a sex slave is twelve years." He kept speaking, and there was a kind of fatigue in his voice that sleep couldn't fix. "It's just… everywhere. I mean, Europe produces ninety percent of all child pornography, and my country isn't much better. America is the number one consumer, after all, and you don't have supply without demand. This whole world is a mess."

Loki had absolutely no idea what pornography was, but he didn't like the sound of it. It was certainly something sexual, given the nature of their conversation, and when he considered the word 'child' preceding it, the details didn't really matter.

Clint straightened up and suddenly smiled, the influence of the staff evident in his words and tone when he spoke. "Once we get the portal open, and you take over Earth, we can clean it up. I never had that kind of hope before the Tesseract opened my mind, and it… it's a great feeling. We'll finally see some change." He smiled again, and then he turned to leave, tossing a farewell over his shoulder. "It won't be long now, sir."

Loki didn't respond, still staring out over the city and contemplating the influx of information. Briefly, he considered how Thor would have responded—by rushing in and smashing everything with his hammer, of course—and he was especially grateful for his analytical mind in that moment.

 _So, they made it legal to sell sex… and children are being taken in by master manipulators to make those sales. Unsurprisingly, money is the motive. Humans truly do lack any sense of originality._

Loki straightened up, grabbed the railing, and jumped over the edge. He dropped into the alleyway below, feet scraping against the side of the building as he fell. It was a bit of a rough landing, but he managed it, and with a simple illusion, he was just another man walking down the street.

 _I can see how it might be difficult for them to muster up the courage to escape, but once they're out… one would think they could report it to the police and bring down entire brothels at a time._ Loki frowned, his lips twisting this way and that as he considered the scenario. _Unless they fear retribution, either for disobeying or for sins they deem to be their own._

He continued to walk down the street, examining various buildings as he passed. It didn't take him very long to find a building with a neon woman dancing on a pole above the door, and Loki wondered how many brothels had to be in the city for such an easy find.

Loki presented no caution when he entered the brothel—confidence was everything, after all—and once he paid for the assumed service, he was directed to the next floor up. It looked much like one of the human hotels with its long hallways lined with doors; however, unlike hotels, there was a girl standing next to almost every door.

Loki walked passed them, giving each girl a glance at minimum. Some bit their lips and batted their lashes, some folded their arms beneath their cleavage and smiled, some kept their appearance mysterious and stared with bedroom eyes.

Loki didn't know why he stopped.

Maybe it was because she looked like him, with her blue-green eyes and dark, albeit brown instead of black, hair. Maybe it was because she was the only girl to express any kind of fear or nervousness. Maybe it was because she gave off a stronger life force than the other girls in the hall.

Maybe it didn't matter why.

Loki twisted the doorknob and pushed the door in, gesturing for her to go first. She gave him a smile and a little giggle, bouncing into the room and onto her bed. He followed her in, a strange lump forming in his throat when he saw her laying there, legs open, one finger curling to beckon him closer while the other pulled on the laces of her corset.

Loki shut the door behind him and locked it. "How old are you?"

It was uncharacteristic for him to blurt things out without thinking, but he wanted to know.

Needed. He needed to know.

It was obvious the girl on the bed didn't understand him, and she simply switched tactics, trying to appeal to a different sexual preference. She hugged a pillow to her chest and chewed on her thumbnail, blinking up at him innocently. She folded her legs beneath her, one hand slipping beneath the cushion to touch her stomach.

Loki took a moment to recall the spell for automatic translation, uttering the incantation under his breath before realizing she wouldn't have found the words unusual; everything he had said up to that point was gibberish to her.

"How old are you?" he asked again, knowing she would hear his question in her own tongue.

"Nineteen. But…" she pushed the pillow aside and crawled toward the foot of the bed, "…I can play pretend. How old do you _want_ me to be?"

Loki knew she was lying—one of the benefits of being the god of lies—and he didn't understand. If she was a minor, she had grounds to go to the police, and Loki had seen two different women walk out of the building unhindered, so no one would keep her from leaving. But if she wasn't a minor, what reason would she have to lie about her age?

"I am not interested in sex." Loki spoke flatly, and he found himself oddly disturbed by the thought that his standoffish nature might frighten the girl. _Stop being so soft._ He shook away the thought and approached the foot of the bed, maintaining a tone of indifference as he pressed her again. "I want to know how old you are."

She ignored the question and reached out, taking his tie into her hands. "We don't have to have sex. I can do _anything_ you want."

Loki grabbed her hands when she started to loosen the knot, his confusion melding with frustration as he contemplated the woman before him. She certainly didn't seem reluctant to get him in bed, and she looked to be of age.

 _Of course. Barton is human, and they have such conservative ideas about sex. They'll come up with any reason to ostracize deviants._

Loki felt a twist in his gut at the words, and he knew he was wrong.

 _She lied about her age. You only lie when you have something to hide._

"What's your name?" Loki asked softly, a flicker of guilt passing through him as he realized it hadn't mattered what her name was up to that point. He was investigating, curiously looking into a rumor, and he didn't care much about his source as long as he got what he wanted.

"Lavinia."

"Hello, Lavinia. I am Loki, of Asgard, and I don't want anything from you but a conversation."

She stared at him for a few moments, clearly confused, and pulled one of her hands free to rub at her stomach. "You… want to talk?"

Loki nodded, releasing her other hand.

Lavinia crawled backwards until she was propped up against the headboard and patted the mattress next to her. "Join me, and we can talk."

Loki hesitated but eventually made his way over. He kicked off his shoes and sat on the edge of the bed, only pulling one leg onto the mattress with him. "I want you to tell me how old you are, Lavinia. I always know when people lie to me, and I don't like it, so I want you to tell me, honestly, what your age is."

Lavinia bit her lip and looked down, shame crossing her features. "I will be eighteen in a few months."

Loki shook his head, sensing the lie again. "Try again, Lavinia."

She blinked in surprise, apparently used to people believing her, and she swallowed nervously. "I am sixteen."

Loki only shook his head again, giving her a look of disapproval.

"Thirteen," she tried, her voice barely above a whisper.

Loki gave her the same headshake and look.

"…in two months. I will be thirteen in two months."

That was the truth.

Loki offered her the faintest of smiles to encourage the honesty, and then he gestured to the room they were in. "How did you wind up here, Lavinia?"

"I work here," she replied, and her hand wandered to her stomach again. "I like it. I make good money."

Loki arched a brow to let her know he detected the lies, but he didn't press her on it. "Do you have a family, Lavinia?" He felt like he was saying her name too much, but he wondered when she had last felt like a person instead of an object.

"Yes," she replied, and her smile seemed genuine when she spoke. "I have three brothers, one sister, a mom, and a dad, and my grandparents live with us." Her smiled faded as she closed the sentence, and she looked away for a second or two. "They are back home."

Loki pursed his lips. "Where is home, Lavinia?"

"Bucharest, Romania."

Loki didn't know where that was, but he knew it wasn't Germany. Hadn't Barton mentioned Romania? Yes, he had. It was definitely another country.

"You seem a little young to be so far from home."

"I had to find work." Lavinia spoke earnestly, swallowing hard in between phrases. "My family… we need the money. Mother is sick, and there are a lot of us. I want to help."

Loki narrowed his eyes slightly, scrutinizing her. "Are you alright? You look ill."

She only smiled at him. "I am fine, thank you. You are very kind, Mr. Loki."

"Just Loki is fine," he replied, sensing another lie. "Tell me, Lavinia, why don't you get a different job?"

She shrugged her shoulders, but her face was still tight. "I like what I do."

That was a big one.

"Why do you keep lying to me?" Loki didn't bother keeping the anger from his voice. He was giving her a chance to escape, he was reaching out a hand to help her, and she was _lying_ to him.

It was infuriating.

"I'm not lying," she replied softly, shrinking back almost imperceivably.

"Yes, you are." Loki raised his voice slightly, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "You lied about being ill, you lied about the money you make, you—"

Loki was cut off in the middle of his tirade by Lavinia bolting for a door that lead to what looked like a bathroom. It took a second, but then Loki heard her retching, and he knew she had finally given in to the discomfort he had pointed out.

Loki got to his feet and padded over to the bathroom, joining her by the toilet and pulling her hair back out of her face. Asgardians might have had significant advantages over humans when it came to physicality, but Loki knew what it was like to spend a night by the toilet.

And Lavinia was only twelve. Alone and scared and twelve.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, rubbing her back.

Lavinia nodded slightly, grabbing some toilet paper and using it to clean her face.

 _She has an increased life force, and she was repeatedly rubbing and touching her stomach. Now she's vomiting. I assumed she was rubbing her stomach because she felt sick, but…_

"Lavinia," he whispered. "Are you pregnant?"

Lavinia nodded miserably.

"Does your… handler know?"

She nodded again.

"Does he want you to get rid of it?"

She shook her head, sniffed, and then leaned against the shower door. "No. I will make extra money when I am further along."

Loki stared at her for a second, but then he decided he didn't have time to be horrified by every little detail. "You need money for the baby, too. Is that right? You can't quit, and you don't have time to find another job." _If you even know how to… and you probably don't._

Lavinia nodded and looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You will not tell, will you?"

 _"They aren't allowed to cry; they'll be punished if they do."_

But Loki got the feeling she meant everything—the crying, the age she finally admitted to, the fact that she didn't entertain him like she was supposed to.

Loki shook his head. "No, I won't tell anyone." He rubbed her back again and let go of her hair, at a loss for what to do.

 _I knew humanity had fallen far, but…_

But _that_ far? Children selling themselves? Children having children of their own? People being reduced to objects of any sort—sex, labor, financial benefit—and it happening by and large? Loki wanted to subjugate the planet, but even as a ruler, he would have seen the human race as a race of _people._ Less valuable than Asgardians? Of course. Humans were a weaker, lesser people, but they were people nonetheless.

"You won't leave with me, will you?" Loki rubbed her back again. "If I ask you to come with me, you won't."

Lavinia shook her head, desperation and fear in her eyes. "No."

Loki wet his lips and let out a heavy sigh. "Very well." He straightened up and returned to her room, walking to the small vanity and grabbing one of her many, many beaded bracelets. He held it in his hands, closed his eyes, and focused all his energy into the beads and string. He didn't have much leftover magic—not after his trip through the realms, and not with a battle on the horizon—but it was enough to draw attention.

Loki heaved a sigh, shaking his head a bit to clear the dizziness. _Whew._ He took the bracelet into the bathroom, arriving just as Lavinia got to her feet and finished adjusting her appearance.

She was ready to reapply makeup and do her job.

"Lavinia, I want you to keep this with you, alright?" He gently placed it in her hands. "If you do, I will be able to find you no matter where you are, and I can help you and the baby. If I can't be there, then there are others who will come. They will give you money and food and shelter… they will take care of you and your family and your baby in my place. Alright?"

Lavinia blinked a few times and turned the bracelet over in her hands. She seemed touched by the words, but nowhere near convinced.

Which made sense. Men had lied to her before, promising a better life only to clear away the smoke and reveal an imitation of hell. If Loki were in her position, he wouldn't have believed him, either.

"Just keep it with you, alright?" He kept his voice softer than it had been in a very long time, and he couldn't deny the longing he felt for his home and family and native culture. "It's alright if you don't believe me. I won't be angry, but you must promise keep it with you _always_."

Lavinia looked at him for a moment, then back down at the bracelet, and then back up at him. She smiled—the second genuine one Loki had managed to get out of her—and nodded her head. "I will. I will keep it always. It is one of my favorites, anyway."

Loki offered her a faint smile—something he realized he hadn't been doing much of lately—and then he was out of time. "You'll be alright, Lavinia. You'll see." He smirked at her. "I hate lies. Why would I tell one myself?"

He found his own argument incredibly ironic, but she didn't need to know who he really was. She was going to be okay, and Loki didn't feel the need to tell her more than that.

* * *

"I'm telling you, it has to be moving."

"How can it be moving? You said it was an object."

"Objects _move,_ Steve, it's a thing they do."

Clint let out a heavy sigh and massaged his forehead, pushing off the wall and approaching the World's Mightiest Bickerers. "You said it's in that building, right?"

"It _was,_ " Tony replied, "but as soon as we landed, it started to move. It's here, though, somewhere on this block."

Clint glanced at the building Tony said the signal had originally come from. It was a brothel—he could tell because of the tri-color pattern on the outside—and he doubted the staff would be very forthcoming about girls or clients. _Great._

"Hey, it's getting closer." Bruce pointed to the screen. "There, I think that's the corner with the McDonald's."

Steve looked up and started to turn in a circle. "That was… uh… that way."

Tony kept his eyes on his device and took the lead. "It's getting a better signal now, starting to zero-in on the location."

Steve muttered something about technology under his breath.

"Don't even, Steve. Be happy I could even _make_ a magic-finding device. I mean… it's _magic._ " Tony turned the corner, coming to an abrupt stop with a startled, "Whoops! My bad."

Clint rolled his eyes and went to walk around him, figuring the source of the signal had to be mere feet away, and then he saw the girl Tony had bumped into. Tight miniskirt, lowcut top, faux-leather jacket, and heels that put the Eiffel Tower to shame.

Wait, wrong country.

No, never mind, it didn't matter.

Clint interrupted Tony's rambling, not entirely sure what the inventor had even been saying to her, his voice soft. "You work in that building over there?" he asked, pointing to the brothel.

She simply stared at him, opening and closing her mouth a few times before she managed a, "I do not English," and trailed off into murmured Romanian and then silence.

Clint rubbed the back of his head and tried to say, "My Romanian is a little bit rusty." He got the feeling he said something more like, 'My Romanian is a little rusted just a bit,' and he turned to Natasha for help.

She stepped forward with a smile and placed herself between the girl and the group of men. They exchanged a few words, and then Natasha turned to look at Tony in confusion. "She wants to know if we can make her understand. She said there was a man who did that before. No translator, she said. He just… made her understand."

"Uh…" Tony looked down at the device in his hands. "Jarvis, run a live-time translator for me." He waited a few seconds and then looked at the girl. "This is the best I can do. How's that?"

The tablet repeated Tony's words in Romanian, and after she replied, they heard her words in English.

"That is works."

Steve looked at Tony and arched a brow, trying not to smile and failing.

"I am working on the translator, okay?" Tony argued. "It's—it's on my list, it'll get better."

The girl spoke again, and the attention returned to the device.

"Did you come from the nice man? For the bracelet?"

Clint frowned and leaned over to ensure he was heard. "Can we see your bracelet?"

Bruce gave Clint a sideways look. "That's the question you're going with?"

Tony held up a hand. "Okay, okay, everyone needs to stop. One conversation, the one with the girl, and nothing from the rest of us. Okay?"

Silence was the answer, and Clint repeated his question.

"Can we see your bracelet?"

She nodded and held out her hand, but there was nothing spectacular about the strand of beads on her wrist.

"Woah." Tony pointed to the screen. "That's it. That's the thing."

She tilted her head to the side. "What is what thing?"

Clint took the tablet from Tony and stepped a little closer to the girl. "Can you tell me who gave you this bracelet?"

"Mr. Loki," the girl replied, pausing to chew on her lip. "Are you the help?"

Clint swallowed any emotion Loki's name brought, casting aside the bitterness in favor of further conversation. "Yes, we can help you. What did he say we would help you with?"

"He said you help my family and me and baby."

"Baby?" Clint echoed dumbly.

She nodded and pulled her jacket and scarf away to reveal a bump. "He learns I need the money. Said to keep bracelet, and help will coming."

Clint glared at the translator, but he understood enough to continue without clarification. "Did he visit you at work?"

She simply nodded to that. "He was nice. He sat with me, and we talking the whole time."

"What did you talk about?" Clint asked softly, not sure how he felt about the direction the conversation was headed.

"Mr. Loki said not to lying. I tell him I am twelve, and my name is Lavinia. I had a birthday after then, so I am thirteen now. He understood I am pregnant, and he wanted me to leave."

Clint nodded understandingly. "But you were afraid, so you stayed. Right?"

Lavinia nodded. "But he tell me to keep the bracelet, and he said help will come." She bit her lip and shifted anxiously. "You are help, yes? He promised not to tell anything."

"Yes, Lavinia. We're the help." Clint offered her a small smile and handed the translator back to Tony. "Natasha, can you talk to her and figure out what we need to do?"

Natasha nodded and immediately began to speak with Lavinia, the conversation picking up speed without the hindrance of translation.

Clint turned away from the duo and let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his face and shaking his head. He didn't remember anything from the time he spent under Loki's control, but if he had been in Stuttgart, he probably would have said something. Why else would Loki go find an underage prostitute and not sleep with her?

"He knew we would look for magic if he lost, especially in places we knew he had been." Tony nodded his head slowly. "He knew we would find her, and if he didn't lose, he could just come back and get her himself."

Steve frowned slightly. "So… is the kid… his?"

Bruce shook his head. "She's at least three or four months along, and he wasn't even on the planet that long ago."

"Stop picking it apart." Clint kept his eyes on his shoes, his voice monotonous. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. We know about her now and we can help, so let's just let it go."

Clint walked away from the group without waiting for a response, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. He doubted the team would take his advice, but he had to. He had to let it go.

He couldn't think about the monster that took his brain and played with it helping an innocent little girl. Maybe someday. If they ever crossed paths again, if Lavinia really wanted to see Loki, if…

It didn't matter.

He wasn't going to think about it. Not today. Today a young girl was going to be freed from slavery.

Nothing else really mattered.

* * *

Author's Note: All statistics were accurate as of November 2017. I went on a mission's trip to Stuttgart, Germany and underwent some training. I used what I learned to write this story. I worked with Kainos in Germany, but I've been to some WAR (Women At Risk) events, too. I advise you to look for local anti-trafficking organizations in your area. If you are in the United States and you see something suspicious, call the National Human Trafficking Hotline; this is not like calling the police, you don't have to be totally certain of what's going on.

 _\- More Facts -_

Loki wondered how many brothels were in Stuttgart; it's over 400.

Less than 2% of human trafficking victims are ever rescued.

Children of the victims are usually raised to be sex slaves (girls) or groomed to be the next generation of pimps (boys).

There are more slaves in the world today than every other time in history _combined._ 40.3 million is the estimate.

I chose Bucharest, Romania for Lavinia's hometown because I sponsor two children in that area. Even though they're not in a situation like Lavinia's, I wanted to tip my hat to them. It's the abject poverty they live in that leads to girls going with lover boys in search of a better life. I sponsor through World Vision, and I would definitely recommend using them, as most of your money will actually go to helping the children and not to advertising.

In short, this is my Sexual Slavery Awareness Story, and I hope you both enjoyed and learned something from it.

 _\- Sources and Resources -_

Women At Risk International: warinternational . org

Kainos (Based in Stuttgart, Germany): kainos-ev . com

Kainos (In German): kainos-ev de

Hotline: 1 888 373 7888

Polaris Project (United States): polarisproject . org

And perhaps the most official source you can get on trafficking in the United States...

The FBI: www . fbi . gov /investigate /civil-rights /human-trafficking


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